Wednesday, May 21, 2014

It is Well with the Abode

It is Well with the AbodeDenizens of the docuverse like changeable days when it
hails,Homemade jam, an honesty box and following New Forest
trails,But know these to be shadows.I defer to this house, it knows better!I defer to that yurt on a virgate they call
"Dolutell".Gary Turk sermonizing brown-jumper'd doggerel, or Plato'sAssertion that looking up is in the mind, and the rest
shadows?I defer to this house (it knows better).If it flirts to reopen a drawer that I closed, it is well.It is well with the house that I wait on its initiative,And well with my work to accede to what the house thinks proper.I defer not to those with whom, for whom, plenty of us live:The Puritan, the Sulk, the insidious Potential-lopper.Sopping past, I awake with my past as before, sopping pasts,Empty a tub of Brylcreem on my head; and osteoblastsDegrading the base of my antlers at last cause them to shed.Propensities in past lives were adapted by those who ledRevolts or starved peoples, and war was my browbeating
husband:Firebrands, emperors and all the feudal powers' escutcheonedMagnates indoctrinated me, and I had thought that their
viewsWere my own, their lusts my own. Like men who, by piecemeal,
abuseTheir partners till they are living a life of perpetualUnwitting unfulfillment, concocting a perceptualIllusion so that a wife's husk ends up attending stock carRacing meets, like those men who have turned their blithe
wives into scarTissue, each pope, each hunter of stags, each warmonger,
each kingThat presided over past lives prevented me from glimpsingInner perceptions; and that is why I defer to the site,The henge, the house and to my intercessor’s songs in the
night:“Look up, away from the sky, in your mind, and then you will
know.”The writer has a melanoma, shouts out of a windowAt the sun: "Fuck off incandescence, shadow casting
shadows –There are deserts and pestilence and this thing on my face
growsBecause you are a shadow of something more real but toxic!”